


soon it will all be over and buried with our past

by mackdizzy



Series: Bounty Hunter AU [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Like this is STRAIGHT UP H/C STRAIGHT UP, Stan twins - Freeform, bounty hunter AU, finally amiright, hurt comfort, next week's gonna be much of the same eyyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackdizzy/pseuds/mackdizzy
Summary: cause though the truth may vary // this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore[FORDUARY WEEK II: TRUST/PARANOIA]
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines (Non-Romantic)
Series: Bounty Hunter AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618777
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57
Collections: Forduary





	soon it will all be over and buried with our past

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, folks!! The prequel to the Bounty Hunter AU!!! AKA, How The Reunion Should've Gone. This one is MESSY MESSY MESSY and I am very sorry for that, I just sort of spilled words on the page and....yeah. I'm REALLY trying to pull three more GREAT submissions for this month, so....we'll see.
> 
> TW'S: Mental Trauma/Paranoia (on Ford's part), Sleep Deprivation, Pseudo-self harm (Bill in Ford's body), Wrist injuries (non-suicidal). 
> 
> NO SHIPPING/ROMANCE/INCEST IN THIS FIC.
> 
> [[title and desc. from Of Monsters And Men's Little Talks]]

The snow piled itself up to Stanley’s calves, the bitter cold Oregon air chilling his near-threadbare shoulders to the bone, but nothing worried him quite as much as the pit in his stomach he felt looking at the house ahead of him. It wasn’t a very Ford-y house. Ford was orderly and tidy, clean corners and neat edges. Even disregarding the structure of the house itself--he means, who builds a house like that, so  _ triangular-- _ there were boards on the windows, uncleaned snow on the driveway, and a crooked sign in the front lawn reading  **_KEEP OUT._ ** The paint on the sign was black, but if you looked closely enough, there were marks of red smeared throughout. A mixup of ink? Or blood? Creepy, either way.

Not quite as creepy as the state he found the front door in, though. Right before his fist made contact with the wood, he stopped, noticing the numerous fastenings to the doorframe. Three locks, at least two bolts.  _ What the Hell? Paranoid much, Ford? _

Rolling his eyes up to the overcast sky he rapped on the door three times, his free arm going to wrap his jacket tighter around himself, and was met with a crossbow to the face. 

“Who’s there? Have you come to  _ steal my eyes?” _

It was hard, at first, to even comprehend that it was his brother talking to him. Ford, who raced to complete homework after sleeping overtime day after day, with bags under his eyes so dark they looked like smudged eyeliner. Ford, who shaved tri-weekly all throughout highschool, with a 5 O'clock shadow, seemingly neglected. Ford, who steadily poured and dissected and spliced throughout chemistry class, hands shaking around the weapon like Ma on her tenth cup of coffee (which might have been likely, what with the eye bags); Ford with a  _ weapon _ pointed  _ at his face. _

“....Stanford?” It was all he could say, stepping back in shock. Everything about his brother was different. Jarringly so. And maybe this was that little part he’d inherited from Ma that, try as he might to shove it down, had never gone away, but Stan was desperate to  _ help.  _ “Are...No, I haven’t come to  _ steal your eyes.”  _ He raised an eyebrow, silently questioning the weirdness of that statement. “It’s--me. Stan. Your brother.”

Ford looked past him, to the snow. Over one shoulder, then over the other, eyes narrowed. He didn’t lower the weapon. “Are you alone?”

“Wh--yes, of course I’m alone, Ford, why wouldn’t I be?”

Ford didn’t look convinced. The look on his face was still hostile, but as he continued to peer around his shoulders, his eyes were overtaken by something else, something visible when Ford met his eyes again. Fear, and a bit of desperation. He could understand Ford’s cry for help even just through his eyes, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. 

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause, but Ford nodded, once. 

“Is someone after you?”

Another nod.

Oh, holy shit. Suddenly, guilt pooled deep inside him; he dreaded the answer to the next question.

“Is it…something to do with me?”

Ford shook his head  _ no  _ this time, rapidly.

“Are they inside with you?”

A longer pause, this time. Ford had to think about that one, apparently. After a while he shook his head  _ no  _ again _ ,  _ but it was unsure.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod.

“Can I...come in?”

Ford stepped to the side,  _ finally  _ lowering that weapon, which made him feel easier immediately. But he was barely five inches past the door before being  _ blinded  _ by something; looking up, he was surprised to see Ford intensely shining a flashlight directly into both of his eyes, wordlessly, an expression halfway between determination and terror on his face.

“....Ford?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Ford mumbled, shoving the flashlight back into his pockets and tugging on the sleeves of his trenchcoat. That hadn’t changed, at least. “I needed to make sure you weren’t…” he trailed off like he’d forgotten what he was about to say, shaking his head and rubbing at one of his eyes intensely. Stan was about to ask  _ weren’t what— _ or better yet,  _ weren’t who, _ because whoever this was who was terrorizing his brother, he was determined to go kick their asses; but he asked a more important question first.

“Ford, how long’s it been since you slept?”

Ford looked at him, puzzled, like it wasn't even something he would’ve considered Stan asking. And then he thought about it, and the length which he had to think worried Stan, but not as much as his answer did. “I...don’t remember.”

“You  _ don’t remember?” _

“No. If I was still on schedule, I would’ve slept Wednesday.” (today was Monday) “But I’m not. It’s, um.” Ford cleared his throat, and tugged a sleeve again. “It’s day twelve, now, I think.”

His jaw hit the floor. “ _ Twelve days?  _ Ford, that’s not humanly possible!” No  _ wonder  _ his brother was acting like this. He pressed a hand to his temple, feigning off an oncoming migraine, and shook his head in disbelief. “When—when do you plan on sleeping?”

Ford looked at the ground, like he used to when they were children and Pa was scolding him for sleeping  _ too much.  _ “These days, I usually just...wait until my body can’t take it anymore. And then when I wake up, I….wait again.”

He nodded, like he understood. “Alright,” he said, like it was alright. But he didn’t understand, and it wasn’t alright. “Can you, uh, tell me why?”

Ford shook his head again, and at first he took it in stride, folding his hands in front of him.  _ Whatever.  _ Ford didn’t wanna share with him, fine. He got it. He hated to admit that, but it was true, he understood. But it was only a second or so of silence before his brother seemed to change his mind. “I’m—not safe. I’m not safe when I sleep, Stanley, I’m safe only as long as I stay awake.”

Ah. This obviously had something to do with whoever was  _ after  _ Ford. Stan felt angry, but once again it was a different kind of anger than he was used to, wetter around the edges, more vibrant, more heartsick. “I promise ya’,  _ nobody’s _ gonna hurt you as long as I’m here. Your brother’s learned a thing or two about fighting the past twelve years, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt ya’.”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed, and he picked at his cuticles, like for a moment he was considering the situation. Then, he shook his head. “No. Stanley, I appreciate the offer, but...it’s not safe. It’s not...like you think. You need to leave, Stanley, I called you here to  _ give  _ you something, but….you can’t stay.”

A coldness churned its way in his gut. Another time, another place, he might’ve been angry about driving 700 miles north to be told to turn right around. But this wasn’t that time or this place. In this time and place, he just felt... _ sad.  _ “Is there...nothin’ I can do to help at  _ all?  _ I can protect you, Ford, I can—“

Something smoothed over in Ford’s face. “Well….there is something you can do for me, actually...maybe. It might...help me sleep. But just for tonight. In the morning, you  _ have _ to leave. And you  _ can’t ask questions.” _

He still didn’t like that idea, but one good night of sleep was perhaps the  _ first  _ thing he could’ve wanted for Ford, so he just nodded in agreement, raising a shoulder in the air. “Yeah, sure. Show me what to do.”

Ford brought him into what he could only assume was a bedroom, but it didn’t look like it had served much of that purpose. There were books and papers on every surface, scattered, untidy. The walls had charts drawn on them, charts and question marks and lines, but something else too. Most unnervingly, in between the scrawl on the walls and surfaces, there was the occasional scribbled triangle; just shapes sometimes, but sometimes caricatured, like some creepy cartoon character. And this wouldn’t have been unnerving all on its own, except the ink used to draw these shapes was always such a garing red he doubted that it was ink at all.

Ford pulled the blankets back on the bed like he was about to get in it, but then he crossed to the closet and withdrew from it four long coils of rope. Hemp kind, tough, like you got at a hardware store. “Okay. You’re going to tie me to the bed.”

“....I am?”

“Stanley, I told you not to ask questions.”

“Okay, okay! Bed-tying it is. Don’t you have anything softer?”

“No.” Ford sat on the edge of the bed before shifting; he sat half-reclined, his arms looped through the headboard rungs behind him, feet outstretched. 

“Is….are you sure  _ all  _ this is necessary?”

“Yes. I would’ve done it long ago, but the problem is I need to tie myself in a way where I can’t  _ unite myself.  _ It’s a paradox. If I can get out of it myself, it’s unsafe. And I haven’t had anyone else to do it for me, until today.”

“....Right. Okay.” Hesitantly, Stan got to tying; it was one of many the odd skills he was damn good at, and made sure that Ford’s arms were securely tied behind him, looped at the wrists, and his ankles fastened in a similar fashion to the footboards. “Now struggle. Struggle like your life depends on it. Like I’m coming at you with a knife. Try everything.”

And Ford  _ did.  _ He tried his hardest, face a mask of concentration, to escape. But Stan’s work was skilled and precise, and Ford wasn’t going anywhere. “Careful, careful.” Stan urged after a while, going over to hold one of Ford’s arms. “Tug that hard and you’ll get ropeburn, and  _ that _ hurts like hell.” He didn’t want to explain how he knew that, but Ford was obviously flagging, so he didn’t think he’d have to. “Will you be able to sleep like this?”

Ford nodded. “Can you set the alarm by my bed? Give me….um….” his eyebrows furrowed. “Give me until 5 tomorrow. AM. Set the alarm and then  _ leave.  _ Definitely the room, preferably the house. It’s...quite a nice town, you can explore. The alarm should wake me in twelve hours, and I’ll wait for you to come untie me. Alright?”

“....Okay, Ford.” He didn’t entirely want to  _ leave  _ him, but he’d do as he asked. He’d long decided to put the questions way behind him. He wound the alarm for the full twelve hours before nodding, once. “Feelin’ okay, Ford?”

“Mmhm. Thank you, Stanley.” Ford was half-asleep already, and Stan ran a hand through his hair, going against his better judgement to stick around at  _ least  _ until he was asleep. And once he was, Stan grabbed his coat, shoved down the terrible, churning fear in his gut, and left. The town was nice, quaint, though he did end up crashing in his car fairly early before making the trek back to Ford’s house. And then, once again he trudged through the snow, pushed open the door, and made his way to the bedroom.

“Stanley—“

Ford was crying. Ford was crying and hyperventilating a bit, and every single one of his survival instincts kicked in, propelling his feet to Ford’s side immediately. He put a hand on his brother’s forehead, testing for a fever—none. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he did that. “Hey, Ford, breathe with me. What’s wrong?”

Ford’s eyes traveled to his wrists, and Stan went to untie them, before—

Oh.

“What  _ happened  _ to you?” He whispered under his breath, horrified. Ford’s wrists were red and blotchy and sore and swollen, rashes and tears inching across the skin, rivulets of blood running down his arms. The same was true of his ankles. “I don’t...understand.” Ford would never have done this in his  _ sleep.  _ It made no sense. “Were you…” it made no sense, but his mind was racing. “Were you trying to get away? You—you knew you couldn’t get away—“

“Wasn’t trying to get away.” Ford whispered, his eyes shut. “He did it on purpose. He wanted to hurt me, it’s—it’s okay, I can live with this. He’s done so much worse.”

And then, Stan was  _ livid.  _ _ Worse?  _ His brother’s wrists and ankles were dripping blood and Ford had claimed, so nonchalantly, that he’d been through  _ so much worse?  _ Amidst 80  _ you should've called him _ s and  _ should've gone to his graduation _ s and  _ should've been a better _

_ brother _ s, Stan untied Ford from the bedposts and sat next to him, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. “Who.” He spoke, his words dripping fury. “Did this to you.”

Ford shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “You wouldn’t understand it, Stanley.”

Bitterly, he averted his eyes from his brother’s, fixing them firmly on the back wall. “Another thing your brother’s too stupid to get, huh?”

“No, I…” Ford trailed off, rubbing at one of his sore wrists. “I think it’s better if I just show you, Stanley. There’s something I need to show you, I just….don’t know if you’ll be able to believe it.”

Stan rolled his eyes. Ford  _ really  _ underestimated him, huh? At least that much hadn’t changed. “I’ve been around the world, Ford! Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

-

“There is nothing about this I understand.”

Stan had taken the time to disinfect and bandage Ford’s wrists and ankles in the bathroom, using his own first aid kit because Ford didn’t know where his was. That worried him, and he hated that it worried him, the insinuation that Ford’s first aid kit had been so often moved. So often used. What worried him more was the fact that nearly every surface in the room was stained with blood. Ford had sat silently the entire time, face an emotionless mask. Once they were done, Ford had led him to the living room and through a door well-worn, down a flight of wooden stairs and into an elevator, then down two stories, through some secret scienc-y dreamlab, and to….this. Almost as big as the room itself, a giant what-looked-like-a- _ portal.  _ And there, truly, was nothing about it he understood. 

“It’s a portal.” Ford pointed out nonchalantly, an eyebrow raised in the air, and he scoffed.

“Yes, Ford, I  _ know  _ it’s a portal, I—how did it  _ get  _ here?” 

Ford pursed his lips. “It’s…..it’s a long story, Stanley. There’s pieces of it I’m not sure you could…”

He sat down on the floor, against the wall, and raised an eyebrow. “Listening.”

“Stanley, you need to—” Ford looked over his shoulder like he was looking for something before sighing and sitting down next to him. “Alright. I’ll tell you.”

And so Ford caught him up. Twelve years worth of missed activity. College, his trek to Gravity Falls, and this demon he’d thought was his friend. Hearing what Bill had been doing to Ford since he’d betrayed him—for  _ nine months— _ was the part that made him hold his hand up, half in alarm, half in disgust. He felt like he was going to be sick.. He understood, now, what Bill’s motives had been last night. To hurt his brother, for no reason other than for  _ fun. _

“Why didn’t you...write to me earlier?”

“I thought I could take care of it myself. I didn’t want to get you involved. And I—I suppose He made me feel bitter, towards you. Towards our silly highschool feud.” His eyebrows furrowed and he got that pouty look on his face, the one he wore so well. “But I was wrong. About everything, but about that especially. I’m glad you came, Stanley, and I mean that. Even if—you still have to leave. You still  _ have to leave.” _ He said it like he was completely determined, but moreso like he was trying to convince himself than him. 

“Why? Why are you so determined to get rid of me?”

There was a pause, and when Ford spoke again, his voice shook like it did when he was about to cry, and something in it broke Stan’s heart. “He’ll hurt you, Stanley. He doesn’t want anyone to help me. I tried to call Fiddleford, and….I paid for it. That was the worst night. I understand His message loud and clear. I’m alone.”

“Bullshit.” Stan growled the word. “Bullshit. You’re not alone anymore, I’m right here, and we’re going to stop this fucker together. Together, you and me. Is there—do you know of a way?”

“No.” Ford’s voice broke further. “I’m helpless.”

Stan didn’t entirely know how to take that. It certainly  _ felt  _ helpless. But he  _ wouldn’t  _ leave Ford like this. He couldn’t. He’d rather die. So instead, he asked something that was most definitely idiotic. But if he didn’t ask it, it was going to explode out of him.

“Can I...can I see?”

Ford seemed to know what he was talking about, and he nodded, once. “Not here, though. It’s...it’s cold. We’ll go back upstairs.” And he stood, 100% business, like none of the earlier conversation had happened. And then he led Stan back to the bedroom, where he’d been mutilated the night before. And then, still not breaking eye contact, he’d taken off his sweater.

He’d thought, at the very least, that he’d be  _ ready  _ for whatever Ford would have to bear. He was wrong. It was worse. It was so much worse. He’d seen now, the nature of it all, how Bill had  _ doodled  _ himself into Ford, his chest, his arms, everywhere his hands could reach. There were burn scars and stab wounds and deep bruises and places the skin was barely held together, and Stan spent the next fifteen minutes just staring, and occasionally touching, but not speaking. He had no words left inside him. This was his brother. His twin brother, who he’d  _ never even once called.  _ Who’d been here, living like this, for nine months, alone. Twelve days, he’d said, without sleeping. He wondered if that was the longest he’d gone. He doubted it. 

There was still something else, something he wanted to ask, but almost didn’t feel capable of. But he did. He had to. “You—you said, when you tried to call Fiddleford, that had been the worst night. What...what did he do?”

There was an exceedingly long pause. Ford folded his fingers in front of him three times before clearing his throat. “Um.” He spoke softly, eyebrows furrowing in distress. “My--he broke my fingers. The  _ extra  _ ones.” Ford’s voice emphasized that point, and he wondered how emphasized it had felt back then. “It was--Bill didn’t want me hospitalized, He didn’t want anyone to know, He didn’t want anything that could cause a fuss, but--I had to go, when He did that. Broken fingers are more easily explained, I had the money, told them I’d had an accident in the lab and left that at that.” He fixated his eyes on the back wall and furrowed his eyebrows. When I--when I woke up that morning, I thought Fiddleford was going to be there--I mean, he’d hung up on me, I just thought….” Ford shook his head. “My...my point is, Stanley, when I woke up, and I had to drive myself to the hospital, it...it hurt, Stanley, it hurt so badly.” 

And this time Ford did start crying, wet tears running down his cheeks, as if now was the first time he was bothering to admit that to himself at all. “Stanley, it all hurts so much…I wake up in pain, so I don’t sleep, and I’m  _ scared,  _ and I’m--tired.” He nodded, once, then many more times, much faster. “I’m tired, Stanley, I’m so tired.” 

Stan inched closer, wrapping an arm around him, and Ford put his head on his shoulder, taking in a shaky breath. And then, since there was nothing else to do, Stan let Ford cry. It might’ve been, he realized with a start, the first time he’d cried in god knows how long. And Stan got that, Stan had  _ been  _ there, so many times, alone in a motel room wishing he had someone he could cry to. Secretly wishing it could be Ford. “Did the alarm wake you up, or were you awake before?”

“No, the alarm woke me.” Ford’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“I think you need a lot more than twelve hours of sleep, Sixer.”

Just for a moment, Ford’s eyes widened, and he sat up rigidly like he’d been shocked. But then he smiled, and Stan felt something in him melt, just a little. He didn’t think he’d seen Ford smile since he’d got here. Not in 12 years, actually. Maybe a little longer. “Maybe so. I’m just...I don’t have a way to keep him out, Stanley. I think we can--do what we did last night, for a little while, while we work out something long-term.”

That took him by surprise, and excitement flickered up in him like a flame. Clear, cut-dry, sharp relief. “You’re...letting me stay?”

“I  _ want  _ you to stay, Stanley.” Ford blurted out, the speed of it taking him by surprise. “I just don’t want Him to hurt you.”

“What, you think one little dream demon’s gonna stop me?” He raised a shoulder into the air. “Besides, geometry’s been my biggest enemy since 7th grade. It’s all natural!” Ford laughed again, and that was all he wanted in the world, really. “C’mere, Poindexter.” 

And so Ford moved into his arms, and Stan reclined a bit before falling back down onto the bed altogether. It was oddly soft, surprisingly comfortable for how little it had been used, but he was grateful for that. Maybe it was just having Ford there that made it all the more enjoyable. Ford moved next to him and put his head on his chest, and Stan used one hand to maneuver the blankets over both of them. “Are you gonna go back to sleep now?”

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to, Stanley. I think I just want to lie here for a while.”

“Alright. So long as you’re relaxin’.” And he gently ran his fingers through Ford’s curls, letting the sun rise around them, like when they were children and Ford crawled down the ladder of their bunk after nightmares. For a moment, maybe two, that’s how it could be, all their demons simply metaphorical, easily fixable. It only took a few minutes for Ford to drift off for real, and, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, Stanley wasn’t scared. Whatever may come in Ford’s sleep, they’d get through it together. For now, at least, he was in it for the long run.

And there was nothing about that that he  _ didn’t  _ understand.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, would adore a COMMENT or two if you enjoyed!! Your comments really do keep me loving what I do!! Thank you so much for taking the time to read as usual.


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